


there's a song yet to be sung

by Lizzen



Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)
Genre: Bisexuality, Bittersweet, Christmas Party, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 19:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13083684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: Bill finds himself at Jim’s door after the staff’s Christmas party. There’s a loneliness that’s crept in and grown like a canker, but only noticeable now as his momentum slows. So his hand rises, pushes back in the air and pushes forward three times; rapping against wood.





	there's a song yet to be sung

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theoldgods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoldgods/gifts).



> a treat for theoldgods in Yuletide 2017  
> Many thanks to my lovely beta!

The Christmastime air is brisk, and his lungs ache from the coldness of it. Still, he stands like a statue at Jim’s door, staring at it with fists in his pockets. There’s something teetering in his step after all the excitement before; good old fashioned revelry, more drink than is good for him, and a bit of careful canoodling in the dark. 

He can still smell her when he breathes in. 

His dick is spent for the night, probably, but here he is, regardless. There’s a loneliness that’s crept in and grown like a canker, but only noticeable now as his momentum slows. So his hand rises, pushes back in the air and pushes forward three times; rapping against wood.

When the door opens, Bill sighs as dramatically as he can. “It’s late, old boy,” he says, as if _he’s_ the one being interrupted from a post-party ritual. And he feels something twist in his gut as Jim so obviously hides something like delight. 

Jim moves out of the way as if Bill owns the place, as if he lives here. As if Jim is the one trespassing after 1 am. Bill feels a smile coming on and so, he bites down on his lip first. See, there’s a might in Jim that Bill admires, a specific violence that can break a man’s neck. And it all seems to soften when they’re alone. A tamed beast; all his, all his. It’s all very appealing to him - this shared weakness. 

“Nightcap?” Jim says, closing the door and leaning against it. “There’s some--”

Bill takes steps forward and the palm of his hand presses against the door next to Jim’s ear. And he leans in. “Remember the Château d'Yquem we shared in Cinque Terre? The laughter of women on a terrace near us?” 

A sigh of sorts emerges out of Jim’s throat, and his cheeks pink with what Bill knows is shame. “That bottle was older than either of us,” he says, seeming to flatten himself as much as he can against the wood behind him. Bill leans in further until he’s pressed against him. And his smile grows when he can feel that Jim’s hard, hardening. 

“I need something that sweet,” he says before crashing his lips against Jim’s. There’s a gust of air as Jim heavily breathes out. And, with the slightest of sighs, his mouth parts, allowing Bill in.

Bill thinks there’s something pure about Jim’s kisses. A violent man often, he knows, has a gentle touch; an often well hidden secret. It’s a softness that surprises, that seduces Bill. Makes him hunger for all manner of things. And once the kisses start, it’s near impossible to stop. 

There’s a hand on a chest, pressing strong fingers against his beating heart as if to confirm its presence, its part in the affair. Bill’s often been told that he’s heartless, but he hopes Jim never-- that he never-- never thinks so ill of him. Thinks ill of him at all. 

Jim, he thinks, understands him, and better than most. And enough to _forgive_ \-- 

When it's over, he thinks with some vaguery of caution, when it's over, I will take him back to Cinque Terre, retire there. _They'll allow it if I-- if I--_ and Bill shakes his head, burying the thoughts, pulling away just to look at Jim’s face. To see something tender, something dangerous. Feel a real heat in his blood. 

Bill swallows, notes that he can’t taste Ann anymore. Lets his lips curve up. “Open your mouth,” he says before pushing in again, aching to kiss him again. Fingers dig into his arm, a clinging sort of grip. And they stand there, sharing body heat and a heated desire. 

With a certain kind of familiarity, he begins to fumble with Jim’s clothes. He’s too tired for much of a tryst, but he can certainly get on his knees for this man; and do what it takes to shatter him. Jim makes protesting noises, but Bill always gets his way in the end. He’s immovable once his mind is made up. 

_And I’m going to tear him apart,_ Bill thinks. 

It’s not without some sacrifice to part from sweet kisses, slide to his knees, and get his hands on Jim’s dick. Bill’s not a young man, but, on that point, he’s not an inexperienced man. His knees can survive the length of time it will take to take a man in his mouth, and finish him. 

“Stop,” Jim says weakly, and Bill gets his mouth on him. Tastes him and feels the rise of desire, an overwhelming thing. The heart wants what it wants. Bill’s not often the one in this position, no, _no_ , he loves being sucked off more than anything, but this, _this_ , feels right, right in this moment. Taking care of Jim. Making sure he knows where he stands, regardless of all the ongoing, neverending shit outside these walls. 

Taking a man in your mouth isn’t the most comfortable thing to do, but oh, the reward. Jim’s hand has made its way to Bill’s hair, clinging tight but not-- not too much. Jim is a violent man, and Bill wishes, sometimes, _sometimes_ , that he was a violent lover. Pulling too tight, thrusting in too deep. But no, _no_ , he acts with a gentle gentility. If, Bill thinks, if Jim fucks a woman, he supposes that he takes his sweet time, makes it so good that she loses all sense of self, loses all reason, loses control. 

Bill is less subtle in lovemaking. It’s the seduction that appeals to him rather than the press of skin against skin. 

And yet, here he is. Jim is-- Jim is something special.

He hums briefly before building the intensity of his action; pulling Jim in deep, deeper than before, and griping Jim’s ass as hard as he can to keep the position solid. His tongue twists, and Jim sighs out something like sudden relief, and Bill knows it’s almost complete. A sharp tug on his hair, a grunt Jim couldn’t muffle, and his dick pulsates. Bill breathes in before taking it in, swallowing down like a bad shot of sour tequila. Clean, simple. 

And Bill is suddenly angry, _angry_ at this moment, knowing that it’s just not logistically possible to do, to do this, _this_ , on a more regular basis. Work, and appearances, and more, Bill thinks, work. 

More than likely, tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow he’ll be balls deep in some woman; likely Ann. Likely the girl downstairs. Tedious, means to an end. Easy relief in a pair of warm arms. 

But now, in this moment, he presses a kiss against sensitive skin before helping Jim back into his pants and trousers. Buckles the belt, and accepts Jim’s hand to help him back to his feet. “Happy Christmas,” he says, rising to his full height. Moves in for the gentlest of kisses, pressing his body rather forcefully against Jim’s. Accepting how Jim holds him up. And he says, soft, so soft: “The after party is always better.”

A fist at his shoulder pushes him just slightly away. Jim looks thoughtful now, less unsure. “You know _he_ ’ll find out,” he says, his gaze direct. “He’s good.”

Bill blinks. Thinks first of Karla before-- “George find out about us?,” he scoffs. “Poppycock.”

Gentler this time. “About Ann.” And there’s a wistful look in his eyes. Bill knows every one of Jim’s tells.

“He needs a blind spot where I’m concerned,” he says with a brutal honesty. “So I can get away with anything-,” and he kisses Jim, “I-,” another kiss, “-like.” Another kiss. And he can feel Jim go limp with it, kissing him back with the laziest, sweetest kisses. Bill’s favorite.

It’s a long moment before he whispers words against Jim’s skin: “I’m going to linger, if you don’t mind,” and it’s a terrible and _wonderful_ idea. Not well formed, but stated before he could second guess. 

Jim shivers, some sort of trembling that starts in his belly and radiates out to his extremities. “Whatever you need,” Jim says, and Bill breathes it in, relaxes into it. 

The world will tilt back to its usual status in the morning. 

#


End file.
